Sometimes life got you to where you’re riding
around in a borrowed Ford Escort GT, with the tape adapter connected to cracked
screen iphone 4 you use as an ipod now, door speakers crackling out Westside
Gunn, while you ride around cold winter world with window down, two machetes on
the back floorboard and ka-bar on the passenger seat, just looking for
somebody. No one in particular, though maybe yeah exactly a particular someone,
and hoping you don’t find anybody because mostly you’re just looking for
trouble, but rather than sit home and stew, you got no sense of safe harbor
home, nowhere to stew, always on the move so that the shit of the world doesn’t
start to put its stink on you and the only way to stay relatively fresh is to
keep moving. So you’re just riding around, looking for trouble, halfway hoping
in your heart you don’t find it, but also knowing your own history of being
more likely to get found by it than not. Fuck it – the philosophy of the
doomed.
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